A note about comments. I love them, because I love hearing from you. Also, I just switched over my commenting to a new system. Older post comments might not be in the correct order, which means my replies are all jacked up. But I like the new system so whatever.

Wednesday, August 31, 2011

30 Days of Shamelessness

Awww shit, another meme month? YES. If you don't like it you can suck it. Or, you know, just stop reading. Whatevs. I don't need you. (I totally need you. Don't leave me.)

This meme is called 30 Days of Shamelessness, and is borrowed from Lance at My Blog Can Beat Up Your Blog. And yes, his blog can. The days of the challenge are as follows:
  1. declare your love for an uncool TV show.
  2. look a fool.
  3. eat. Whatever you feel like eating.
  4. waste time.
  5. declare your love for an uncool movie.
  6. act “girly” or “manly” in a way you’d normally avoid.
  7. share your efforts at something you don’t think you do well.
  8. sweat.
  9. expose something messy or dirty you’d usually hide.
  10. declare your love for an uncool band.
  11. dress to show some skin.
  12. share about a health struggle.
  13. speak up about something crap that was done to you.
  14. hold yourself accountable — not guilty — for something crappy you did to someone else.
  15. dress, walk, and act like you know you’re all that.
  16. spend money on a non-necessity or share a financial struggle.
  17. discuss the reality of your work situation.
  18. brag.
  19. share details about a bodily function or fluid.
  20. talk about sex
  21. express a strong feeling.
  22. set a boundary.
  23. air one of your secrets.
  24. share a struggle you have yet to “just get over.”
  25. ask for help.
  26. make a mistake.
  27. express a dissenting opinion.
  28. discuss a failure.
  29. look a fool.
  30. name 3 more ways you can live shamelessly and commit to doing them…
Holy shit you guys. You're gonna learn a lot about me that you'll probably wish you could take back. This is gonna be SO MUCH FUN. Buckle up and keep your hands and feet inside the vehicle at all times. The ride begins tomorrow!!

Wordless Wednesday - Sunset


Tuesday, August 30, 2011

Conversations With Friends

"Hey, what are you doing for dinner tonight?"

"I have half a bottle of wine I need to finish off."

"Cool. What are you having with it?"

"A glass?"


Monday, August 29, 2011

iTunes Challenge

I was prompted by two friends on facebook to take the iTunes challenge with them. So I decided to open up the audience by posting it here and then just linking to facebook and other accounts. Sorry if you're seeing this in multiple places. Deal with it. love, ME

Put your iTunes on random and write the 1st line of each song. You must do the first 20 songs that come up, no matter what! (Unless there are no lyrics then obviously you have to skip. I had to skip three jazz songs for that reason.)

 Comment and guess what each song and artist is - AND NO CHEATING!!!!

  1. They moved down into town
  2. I think there used to be a word for this
  3. Street’s like a jungle
  4. One two three uh!
  5. I am thinking it’s a sign that the freckles
  6. Sad days, kissing the cheeks
  7. I thought I’d write, I thought I’d let you know
  8. When the ship runs out of ocean
  9. Mott the Hoople and the Game of Life
  10.  I am not a church going man
  11.  Hey, I’m your life
  12.  Squint your eyes and look closer
  13.  Hang all the mistletoe
  14.  Those are all very beautiful words but actions speak louder
  15.  Well I heard there was a secret chord
  16.  Now listen Julie baby
  17.  ..........., arrest this man
  18.  Reaching out for something, you’ve got to feel
  19.  And when I see the sign that points one way
  20.  How dare you say that my behavior is unacceptable

The dots are when the title is in the first line. And everyone is welcome to play along and guess.

Seriously though, I would be SHOCKED if anyone guessed more than maybe three right without cheating. I have such an eclectic music collection. For realsies. Putting my music on shuffle is like playing russian roulette. Sometimes you're like YEAH and sometimes you're like WHY DID I BUY THAT. 
.

Sunday, August 28, 2011

Target ≥ Casinos

I went into The Target today to pick up toilet paper. I just happened to be driving by and remembered that I was in desperate need of the TP. So I went in with the intent to purchase exactly one package of toilet paper and that's all. I do not need anything else from The Target, or any other store.

But The Target is much like a casino. They pipe in stale air that makes you all dizzy and delirious. You find yourself wanting, no NEEDING more things than you ever imagined. And when you get home and you unpack all your bags (for your ONE thing you went in to buy) you discover treasures you couldn't believe you had been living without.

I came out with:
  • toilet paper
  • lip gloss
  • a smelly good candle
  • a four pack of Starbucks frappuccinos
  • Advil
  • a first aid kit

I don't even wear lip gloss. But damn this vanilla frap tastes yummy.
.

Victory is Mine!

I was but 18 years old. And when Tina said "Hey, wanna go see a band with me tonight?" I was all in.

"Where are we going? Who are we seeing?"

"Jars of Clay."

"Never heard of them."

"You'll like them. Trust me." (Lies. When a friend says trust me, you should run away.)

We decided to get our drink on before we went to the concert (because it was college yo, and that's what you do). I may have had a little too much liquid courage. Maybe. You decide in a minute.

We get to the show, work our way up to the front, and start rockin' out.

"Hey Tina. I think they're a Christian band."

"They are."

"Sigh. I'm bored."

"You can't be bored. We just got here."

"I'm gonna see if I can make this more fun."

And before Tina could stop me I was climbing over the barrier that separated the crazies (that would be me apparently) and the stage. I made it over the first barrier, and into the four foot space leading to the stage. I then snuck up to the stage, and looked back at Tina to see if she was happy or horrified.

Tina drunk whispered "Do it. No wait, don't do it. No, totally do it. Wait, don't. Oh crap, just do it." (Clearly her conscious was fighting with the booze.)

And with that I hoisted myself up onto the stage, stood up, and proudly raised my arms in victory. Just in time for one of the college "security" guys to full body tackle me down. I looked up to see Tabs laughing hysterically and running away.

Since I was smart (re: drunk) enough to not have any ID on me, the college "security" dude let me go with a warning. Tina learned a very important lesson that night. Don't take Dawnie to a concert that sucks. Because she'll try to make it "better".



This post was triggered by a conversation about first concerts. My first concert was Michael Jackson when I was eight years old. But Jars of Clay is my most memorable concert to date. Obviously. 


Saturday, August 27, 2011

Parenting FAIL

As the east coast prepares itself for Hurricane Irene I can't help but reminisce over surviving Hurricane Hugo as a wee one living in Charleston, SC in 1989. And as I recall the events of that hurricane, I realize how much my parents deserved a FAIL in responsible parenting.

Here's what NOT to do when preparing for a hurricane:

  • Don't take your kid to the movies with her new "boyfriend" five hours before the hurricane is scheduled to hit land. (I was 10, we never even kissed, but he was so totally my first boyfriend)
  • Don't take your kid to the beach two hours before the hurricane is scheduled to hit land to watch the waves roll in.
  • Don't leave your kid alone in the hour the hurricane is scheduled to hit land so you can make sure you have enough cigarettes and booze to get you through the big storm.
  • Don't tell your kid scary stories at the window while pointing out flying objects in the wind. (Dorothy, I don't think we're in Kansas anymore)
  • Don't let your kid stand in the eye of the hurricane (umm, yeah, they totally let me do that. It was eerily beautiful, but DO NOT EVER DO THAT)
  • Don't let your kid stay up late to watch the storm brewing outside. Also, don't point out all the tornados within the hurricane (7 of them went by our place, 13 total in Hugo) that are causing additional damage.
  • Don't wake your kid up early the next day to go exploring all the damage.
  • Don't let your kid pick up roof shingles with nails in them to help clean up efforts. (I was 10 at the time)
  • Don't feed your kid Poor Boy Soup (consisting of water, hot dogs, rice, and whatever else is on hand) for 16 days without electricity because you forgot to stock up on things that can be cooked on a grill.
  • Don't let your kid bathe in rain water from the hurricane because you forgot to stock up on water too.
  • Don't let your kid run around barefoot after the hurricane. You have no idea how much debris is out there! For realsies.
  • DO get a t-shirt for your kid declaring I Survived the Hurricane!

Friday, August 26, 2011

Fuck that's a lot of nachos

Fourth of July weekend. 
Crosstown Cubs game.

Kelly: I'm hungry. Let's get nacho helmets!
Me: What's a nacho helmet?
Kelly: It's a helmet filled with enough nachos to kill a guy. 
Me: I'm in. 

Ten minutes later at the nacho counter:

Me: Two nacho helmets please.
Nacho Lady: You mean one. These feed up to four people.
Me: Two nacho helmets please. 
Nacho Lady: You crazy, but okay.

One hour, half of each helmet, and several beers later:
Kelly: My stomach hurts.
Me: I am so full of the cheese.
Kelly: We need help eating the nachos.

Our two other friends refused to choke down any more nachos, 
so we made new friends. 

To the guys in front of us:
Kelly: Excuse me sirs. You seem nice. Would you like some nachos from my helmet?

They gladly finished the other half of the nachos and then bought us all beers. 
Nacho helmets are magical like that. 

Look at it. Take it all in. That's a fuckload of nachos. In a helmet.



PS. That is not OUR nacho helmet, nor OUR beer. 
We were so busy eating the nachos that we didn't get proper photos. 
So I borrowed this from the interwebs. 

PPS. Kelly hasn't had nachos since then. 
I've had them about seven times since then. 
I love me some nachos. 
Intervention imminent. 

Thursday, August 25, 2011

This happened today...

My trashy neighbors just hit a new level.
Yes, that is her underwear hanging out to dry.
No, I do not know why just her underwear was wet.
You totally want my life. Just admit it.

i missed my exit #themesong

This is in response to a music meme borrowed from a friend, borrowed from his friend. Because the interwebs get around like that. The themesong: a music meme details can be found here, including a link to the calendar of themes. Each day has a new theme, and you post on days that grab you.

Exit Music (For a Film) by Radiohead, but covered by Vampire Weekend. Because then I get to talk about both bands, and that makes me happy.

This song was written by Radiohead for the end credits of Romeo + Juliet (1996) but was purposefully left off the soundtracks released for the film at the request of Thom Yorke. However, Radiohead did include it on their 1997 album OK Computer. Following along so far? Good. Vampire Weekend was quick to cover the song, because why wouldn't they? It's a great song, and even Baz Lurhmann considers it to be one of the greatest end credit songs ever written for a film.

Now we reverse the connection. Vampire Weekend released the album Contra in January 2010. The opening track off the album is Horchata. The added percussionist on the song is Mauro Refosco, who recently joined Thom Yorke's solo band (along with Flea, Joey Waronker, and producer Nigel Godrich). Is this an example of great music connections? Or just further proof of the incestious nature of the music industry?



Wednesday, August 24, 2011

Thump Thump, ACK!!

So last October I was at work on a Saturday morning around 7am. Insane I know, but shit had to be done, and I drew the short straw. So I blearily shuffled past the building guard, pressed the button for our floor, and stumbled into the darkness of our office. Thank the gods for motion sensor lights popping on as I wound myself through the office to my desk still guzzling my first ginormous coffee of the day.

Before I could even set my shit down I heard it. THUMP. Uh, what the frick was that? THUMP. I walked around to my coworker's desk and saw this bird flying directly into the giant shiny window behind the desk. THUMP.

First thought: Damn that bird is dumb. It almost knocked itself right out. Now it's just sitting there on the ledge trying to decide what to do next.

Second thought: It's sitting on the ledge. The ledge is on the inside of the window. OH FUCK. That bird is INSIDE.

So as I'm staring at the bird trying to ESCAPE through the giant shiny window I'm contemplating how I can possibly make this situation better and NOT WORSE.

AAAACCKK! The bird sensed my intent to mess with it (in a friendly let me help you kind of way, thank you very much) and it decided to fly directly at me in a vicious attacking Imma fuck you up kind of way. While I ducked and screamed and flailed my arms, the devil bird swooped across the desk and landed across the hall on the printer.

My next thought: Motherfucker, if you poop on that printer Imma feed you to the pigeons outside. DO NOT POOP ON MY PRINTER.

Second scare of the morning was discovering another human being in the office. Dude comes around the corner and says "Hey girlie, what's goin' on over here?"

AAAACCCKK! Where the frack did you come from? Nevermind, GET THE BIRD.

So dude has this brilliant idea of taking an old coat from the closet, throwing it over the bird, trapping it in the coat, taking it down the elevator, and releasing it into the wild. (The wild of downtown Chicago that is.)

My hero. He saved me from the vicious devil bird who tried to peck my eyes out.

Devil bird contemplating pooping on my printer. Like a boss. 


Tuesday, August 23, 2011

1996 #themesong

This is in response to a music meme borrowed from a friend, borrowed from his friend. Because the interwebs get around like that. The themesong: a music meme details can be found here, including a link to the calendar of themes. Each day has a new theme, and you post on days that grab you.

I graduated high school in 1996 at the age of 16. I turned 17 a few weeks later, but it was still crazy young and I had no idea what I was doing with my life. Except escaping the life I was living. So off to college I went to meet new friends, learn new things, and try to become the person I wanted to be.

I met some of the most amazing people my freshman year, and they are still very amazing people in my life today. I will never forget the crazy hijinks we pulled off, or the lessons I learned. One (possibly drunken) night the girl who lived across the hall (you know who you are) played this song for us. She wanted to know if we thought it was sexy enough to give a lap dance to for her boyfriend. The consensus was yes.

Looking back, holy hell what were we thinking? Does it get any cheesier than this song? Really? A lap dance? Was he all "damn baby you're sexy. and this whole mouth thing, yeah, sexy"? Or was he thinking "fuck, only girls pick shitty ass songs like this to try to sex me up to"?

Mouth, Merril Bainbridge

Monday, August 22, 2011

And you call yourself a spa...

"Happy Birthday Babe! Open your gift."

Hooray! A gift! For me! Hooray!

"Oh. It's a giftcard. To a spa. For a massage. Yeah, you need to take this back."

"Babe. It's a spa. For a massage. I thought you would like that."

"Yeah, I don't do spas. Or massages. I don't like strangers touching me in my naughty bits."

"They don't do that. You're thinking of brothels."

"They're the same! I read about it on the news!" (Ok, fine. On the internet. Whatevs, it's all the same.)

"I'll go with you. We'll do a couples massage so you won't be alone. You'll see."

Grumble, grumble. I agreed and then immediately forgot the conversation ever happened. I would NOT go to a whore house so a stranger could touch my naughty bits, and definitely wouldn't do it covered in mud or oil or with cucumbers over my eyes.

Weeks passed. Days even. One day the boyfriend came home and said "Get in the car. We're going somewhere special."

"Oooh, what should I wear? Should I have shaved my legs? Should I put my eatin' pants on? What about lip gloss? Is this place worthy of finding my lip gloss?"

"Just get in the car."

"Are we there yet? Where are we going? My socks don't match. Will they care? Are we going to buy new socks?"

We pulled into the parking lot of Heavenly Massage.

"This is a strip club! You brought me to a strip club! I asked you if I needed to shave and you said no!"

"This is not a strip club. It's a spa. We're here for a couples massage."

Sigh. Apparently it was time to hold up my begrudged acceptance of this event.

We went into the spa and they handed us robes and slippers. We were instructed to get undressed, put on the robes, and then wait in the lounge until our room was ready. I got mostly naked but left my bra and underwear on. Had to protect the no-no bits from the massage-molesters.

We were led into our room and instructed to take off the robes, lay down on the massage tables, and drape the sheets over ourselves. Our masseuses would be there shortly.

"Are you wearing your bra still? You can take that off. They won't touch your boobs, and the sheet is covering them too."

"I'm still not talking to you for bringing me to this whore house."

Two pleasant not-at-all-whorish looking women entered the room to start our couples massage. My gal started at my shoulders and worked her hands down my back. She unsnapped my bra one-handed and faster than the boyfriend ever had. I was impressed and appalled all at once.

"Did you just flick my bra open with a snap? Can you please teach the boyfriend how to do that? And can you refrain from touching my boobies?"

"Shhhh. Try to relax." (I couldn't see her face but I'm pretty sure she was rolling her eyes at me.)

She continued to work her hands down my back, and onto my legs. After she was done with my feet she told me to turn over.

"Are you trying to touch my down under?!"

"Your what?" A look of horror crossing her face.

"My down under. My secret pocket. My naughty bits. Is this a brothel? I don't want a happy ending from you."

With a deep sigh from the boyfriend: "For the last time this is not a brothel. They are not trying to touch your naughty bits. Just lay down and try to relax."

"If they try to touch your wiener we are so out of here."

"I think we're done now. You can get dressed." And with that both of the lovely, apparently not whores, left the room.

"Babe, you are the only person I know who can get us kicked out of a spa. Next year for your birthday you're getting jewelry."

Did you hear that?! Jewelry! For me! Hooray!

Note: This tragic event took place many moons ago, and many boyfriends ago too. More importantly, it took place many spas ago. I have successfully spa'd many times without calling anyone a whore. 

Saturday, August 20, 2011

WTF Does That Mean?

I'm the first to admit that I don't know half the shit my friends text to me using abbreviations*. Thank you Google. You've saved my dumb ass on numerous occasions. Also, why is the word abbreviations so damn long? What's up with that, inventor of words? And who came up with Platypus? (For the record, that one is GENIUS. The word and the animal.)

So yeah, here's my brilliance on what some of those texts should mean.

          LOL = Lit On LSD
          LMAO = Laughing My Adderall Off    
          BRB = Be Right BrokeBackMountain 
          MBN = Must Be Nude
          BFF = Best Friends Fondle
          WTG = Willing To Grope
          IMHO = I'm a Ho

I want to come up with some new abbrevs** that I can float around too.

          TYPO = Take Your Pants Off.
          PAB = Pants Are Bullshit.
          WWJD = What Would Jenny Drink?

Soooo, who's buying me a platypus for Christmas this year? Wait, don't tell me. I want to be surprised.

*Also, my misuse of the word abbreviations when I meant to say acronyms says a lot about why I shouldn't write posts when drunk. I blame Captain Morgan. He's a sly fucker. 


**Even though this is still incorrect I think we should start using this abbrev for abbreviations. Right?

Friday, August 19, 2011

Brick - installment five

Hey guess what? Chicken butt! Guess what else? BRICK! Installment five. Mix a martini, crack a bottle, or pop a cork. Enjoy.

Back story goes here, here, here, and here. K, thanks.


Wine Doesn’t Belong in a Glass
You may recall that the wine is in the tub, and the glass was broken. When I moved in with Brick I had a nice set of 12 wine glasses. We hosted many wine parties and these always came in handy. By the time Brick moved out I was down to six wine glasses. All of them died in mysterious accidents. One such accident took out two glasses at once.

I came home to find Brick lying on the floor of the kitchen drinking wine from the bottle, and glass shards were completely surrounding her on the kitchen floor.

“Holy hell, what happened? Are you ok?”
 
“My hands, they couldn’t hold the glasses, so they fell. Wine doesn’t belong in a glass anyway. Have a seat and grab a bottle.”

She had been sitting there for about three fourths of a wine bottle, completely surrounded by two shattered wine glasses, and she had not a single scratch on her. AMAZING.


Birthdays are Bullshit
Brick always threw a huge party for her birthday every year. And it was always legendary. We catered in, hired DJs, and had a kickass theme. This particular year I approached her with caution about her birthday because she was about four months into crazytown.

As a strange surprise Brick informed me that she didn’t want to throw a big bash this year, and preferred for the two of us to have a nice quiet movie night at home. Great idea considering her manic behavior of late. About a week before her birthday she asked me if she could see the guest list for her party. Umm, what now? I reminded her that she chose not to throw one this year and she started crying. WTF.

After listening to her cry about how no one loves her enough to show up for her party, I talked her off the ledge of doom and promised to throw a last minute bash. At this point I was annoyed but thinking that maybe being surrounded by her friends would be healthy for her. Maybe, just MAYBE she’d come back from crazytown.

I’m such an optimistic fool. The day before her birthday I showed her the guest list, the food list, the drinks list, and the box ‘o tricks we call decorations. She flipped out on me.

“Why did you plan a party?! I told you I wanted to spend my birthday with my boyfriend! I’m so tired of everyone being so needy and wanting me to perform like a monkey for them! Cancel it all!”

Silly me. What was I thinking?

PS. The short version of this story goes like this:

Brick always throws legendary parties.
Brick doesn’t want a party.
Brick does want a party.
Brick doesn’t want a party.
Dawnie drinks all the booze bought for the party.

PS. This is probably the last Brick is Crazy installment, mostly because I've blocked the rest of my time living with her from my memory banks. But also, because there's no need to beat a dead horse with more stories. I hope you've enjoyed these though. Someone should get to laugh at my pain while I drink it away. Right?

Wednesday, August 17, 2011

Oh Dook LaRue, I Adore You


Hey you guys, do you remember Showbiz Pizza Place? If you don't, you either had a sad sad childhood or you're too young. And if you're too young you can fuck off for making me feel old. (Sorry kids, life is harsh sometimes.) 

So anyway, Showbiz Pizza Place was like Chuck E. Cheese, only less successful (obviously). They had all the same shit: pizza, arcade, animatronics that scared the bajezzus out of the really littles. It was totally awesome (for kids, not parents; parents loathed that place).

Well I f'ing loved Showbiz Pizza about a million times better than Chuck E. and his stupid Cheese. Because of the band. The Rock-afire Explosion! Look at how fucking awesome that band is:


Dook LaRue, Fatz Geronimo, Beach Bear, Mitzi Mozzarella

They moved so mechanical and jerky that it was obviously fake even to my wee little child brain. But they were also oh so magical. Wanna know why? 

Fuck yeah you wanna know. 

Because I was lucky enough to witness one of Showbiz's biggest nightmares. In the middle of a set the drummer shorted out and caught fire. While other kids were screaming and running away I was all "Moooom! I wanna be a drummer! Lookit the fireworks mom! That is so totally wicked!"

Wait, did kids say wicked back then? I forget. 

Who cares. Focus! I totally thought the fire came from playing the drums too hard, and I was mesmerized. I was probably 6 or so and it was the coolest shit I had ever seen. 

Top that Chuck E. Cheese.

Tuesday, August 16, 2011

The Puking Bear

Restaurant mascots freak me the fuck out. Seriously. If I run into one on the street I will make every effort to get as far away from them as I can. And stat. I'm sorry but I do not want to be accosted by a giant hotdog or cup of soda. It creeps me out to know the guy inside is probably in his underwear and sweating up a storm of germs.

I once knew a guy whose side job was dressing up as a giant bear for story time at Borders. The last time he ever wore the costume was legendary. He went to work still a little drunk from the night before. A mistake he regrets to this day. The costume was ungodly hot inside as always. And if you don't know this, you should: still drunk plus hot and sweaty do not go together. After thirty minutes of ankle biters crawling all over him the hot costume plus tiny knees and fists to the stomach got the best of him. He tried to make a run for the bathroom, but the kids thought it was a chasing game. In his attempt to run away he tripped, threw up inside the bear head, which then fell off and rolled away spilling puke as it went. Children were traumatized that day. So were some parents.

So that is what I think about when I see these mascots walking around the sidewalks handing out flyers. I imagine them as ticking time bombs waiting to blow their lids off, literally.

         


Monday, August 15, 2011

Clocks tell time?

There are three clocks in my kitchen, and not a single one of them tells the right time. The hanging clock needs a new battery, but it's a pain to re-hang so I've been reluctant to take it down at all. The microwave has been telling me the wrong time for about three years now because there's something wrong with the clock as it loses time slowly and eventually gets a few hours off. The coffee maker would tell me the time except I don't leave it plugged in all day sucking up power that doesn't need to be used. So that clock has been completely useless since day one. (OH, and I totally fixed the coffee maker yesterday which means I'm a fucking genius.)

So when I get ready in the morning I use the clock on my computer. Because that is the time I look at news online while sipping my delicious coffee and not getting ready for work when I should be. And by news I mean facebook/twitter/blogs/xkcd. Because news, really, you tell me nothing but lies about the weather.

Sunday, August 14, 2011

Last Night - The Strokes

Last Night - The Strokes

I'm listening to this right now. Literally, right now. And it's a great way to rev up my otherwise boring morning. This is an older song of theirs, so check out some new stuff too.

PS I'm trying to fix my coffee maker right now so I can make loads of delicious coffee. If it doesn't work out I'll be forced to go to Starbuck's drive thru on my way to the store to buy a new coffee maker. Because going a day without the option for my very own delicious coffee is unacceptable. And a little sad.

Saturday, August 13, 2011

Don't Touch or Lick Anything

I love when kids stop in the office. I really do. I think they brighten the place up and offer some color commentary to a normally boring day. Because kids say and do the cutest stuff when mom or dad take them to the office.

But there's an ugly side to this adventure too.

Things you don't want to overhear a parent say to their child in the office:

"Honey, put the knife back where you found it."
"Would you please put your pants back on."
"Sweetie, mommy doesn't like when you climb on the table and dance."
"No honey, we do not lick things in public. Put the stapler back."
"Stop touching yourself."
"I will leave you here."

All of these are actual statements I've overheard at various jobs. Except the last one. I just never want to hear that one. Ever. Also, the first one? Yeah, that office had no kitchen. Think about it.

What have you heard, that you wish you hadn't, when kids are in the office?

Friday, August 12, 2011

Looky Here! I'm Writing a Blog!

I've read a lot of posts from other bloggers about blogging. Ok fine. I've read like three posts on blogging and the rest were all about boobs, poop, binge drinking, or killing things. Don't judge me. You know you want links to those posts.

So I decided to throw out there what I've learned so far. Here's how to write a blog people will want to read.

1. Don't suck. No one wants to read unfunny ramblings. If you aren't sure if you're funny, let a friend proofread. Don't ask your mom. It's her job to like your work, so ask a friend who is honest but fair.

2. Don't ramble. Sometimes the story needs to be long. Sometimes you need the back story. Try to keep it short and to the point, but without leaving the important parts out. And if it must be long, insert hysterical clip art that will make you laugh until your gut splits.

3. Make it easy to read visually. Don't be a douche and use white text on dark purple because OMG unicorns and puppies and purple are awesome. Also, no one wants to read text written over a picture of your dog licking its butt. FACT.

4. Be honest. Lying causes cancer. And stories that come from real life are always better anyway. They have back stories. And sometimes photo evidence to back up your claim. Everyone loves photo evidence.


5. If you're actually good at writing fiction stories then go for it! But make sure you prep people with disclaimers or explanations. You don't want rumors flying about because people don't know you made that shit up.

6. Be unique. Sort out what you want from your blog and then try to stick with it. I'm kind of all over the place because my primary goal is just to get the snarkyness out of my head and into yours. So I've added labels (Click Me! =>) to my posts to help people sort out what they want to read. I post a lot of music, fucked up funny shit, and drama. I have some blogger friends who focus on one theme though, and they stick with it.

7. Be part of a blogger community. Check out other blogs. Comment on them (and I mean really comment, not just lame ass "oh cool"), and make sure to link back to your own blog if it asks you to. You can learn a lot from other bloggers (I know I certainly have) and you can find common interests with them too. I know that I check out everyone's blog after they comment on mine. And I try to comment on new blogs I discover that I really like.

8. Have fun. Because if it isn't fun, it's work.

Good luck!

Leave a comment and get a free hug!

Thursday, August 11, 2011

Dear Naive 20 Year Old Me

At 20 years old I had dreams of ponies and rainbows and kittens. I aspired to be whimsical and free-spirited. I had plans to change the world. Double rainbows, what does it mean?!

At least that's how I remembered being. Until I found this:


Is that what I think it is? YES. YES IT IS. A letter to myself*. A To Do List for myself. A commitment of things to accomplish before I turn 30. When I first discovered this magical letter from my youth I was all OMG BUBBLEGUM  AWESOMESAUCE. A letter from me, to me, about me. WOO! And then I read the damn thing.

I was in TEARS laughing so hard. Did I really write this list? YES. Yes I did. And while it doesn't say how old I was at the time, I can tell you right now that I was 20, because 1) I was going through a notecard phase that year, and 2) #9.

I wrote a new letter/to do list/commitment for before I turn 40. I thought long and hard about this new list. I don't want to look back and think "damn I was an asshole at 32".

Check out my hot pink sticky notes!

*Wanna guess how many things on the list I actually did by 30? FOUR. Wanna guess which ones?

Wednesday, August 10, 2011

Rain

streetlight in the rain

raindrops

Tuesday, August 9, 2011

Brick - installment four

It's Tuesday and you know what that means? Brick! I believe this is installment four. Crack open the whiskey and get to drinking! For a little back story go here, here, and here. K, thanks.

More Back Story
Brick had a boyfriend. But really, he was more like her kid. He lived in his own apartment but still went back to his mom's house for regular meals and to do his laundry (or have his laundry done). There was a time when his mom got really sick (which was very sad and serious, and no jokes will be made about that). So this guy went seeking a mom replacement, which he found in Brick. Below are two stories of how she mothered her boyfriend. Cue awkwardness.

The Lasagna
When the boyfriend's mom got sick he started spending more time over at our place. I didn't mind him being around, but I did mind him eating absolutely everything in the kitchen. We seriously bought a full set of groceries every week and he managed to eat most of it by himself. It's like he was in football training camp and he was beefing up for the big game.

So I had a little chat with Brick about the grocery situation and she was totally in agreement that he needed to stop eating every meal at our house. Her solution? Make a lasagna every three days and drive it over to his place to drop off. She would pre-bake it, mark it with instructions on reheating, and leave it in his fridge for when he got home. She never stayed there to eat dinner with him. She simply delivered his dinners and drove back home.

She even made a lasagna for his mom, but never got to meet her. She delivered that one to his place too, and he then took it to his mom. She also sent cookies and brownies without ever meeting the woman.

The Bookcase
Brick had this gorgeous solid wood bookcase that had been in her family for years. She loved that bookcase and took painstaking care of it, never allowing people to put cups on it or anything else that could possibly damage it.

Her boyfriend made a comment once that he needed a bookcase like that. So one day when the boyfriend was out of town I came home to see Brick dragging the bookcase (it was tall and heavy as fuck typically requiring two strong men to move it) to her car. When I asked her where she was going with it she replied that she was surprising the boyfriend with her bookcase in his apartment.

Less than a week later she was bawling her eyes out because he had already managed to scratch it and stain it with a beer bottle ring. I offered to help her move it back home, and to re-stain it, but she refused. She said he was in love with the bookcase and she couldn't break his heart by taking it away now.

Stay tuned for future installments of Brick is Crazy.

Sunday, August 7, 2011

I look like a homeless wet dog

I'm cold. I'm wet. I'm covered in mud. As in wringing out my clothes and dripping wet. I am in desperate need of a shower. But I survived Lolla 2011 and that's all I care about.

Saw Dale Earnhardt Jr Jr, Flogging Molly, Cage the Elephant, Arctic Monkeys, Explosions in the Sky, some random DJ I never bothered to learn the name of, and Foo Fighters.

It poured twice, and I do mean POURED. The skies opened up and drenched us for a good solid 30 minutes each time, with drizzling rain between. The ground was a giant Grant Park sized mud pit. There was no escaping the filth. But I didn't care, because the only thing I love more than music is a music fest with friends. And oh, we rocked it.

Here are my terrible photos in the rain. I couldn't get any good ones because I didn't want my phone to get soaked. And it poured during Arctic Monkeys and Explosions in the Sky so there are no shots of them at all. Or of Dale Earnhardt Jr Jr because I just didn't think to get any pics. To make up for the bad photos I included some bonus shots you didn't need to see. Yeah...

Cage The Elephant from far away

Flogging Molly rocked it! (also far away)

Some dudes draining the pipes on a fence ( way too close)

Oh noes, the skies are angry. RAIN!

Foo Fighters from really, really far away


I look like a wet homeless dog. But I'm happy!

Also, I made a rookie mistake and I'm a little ashamed of it. I forgot ear plugs. You always, always bring ear plugs to these things so you don't blow out your ear drums. Sigh, I can't hear a damm thing right now and we didn't even get that close to the stages. I'll go hang my head in shame now.

30 Songs in 30 Minutes

Saw the band 7th Heaven last night and they do this thing called 30 Songs in 30 Minutes. Yep, they literally play about one minute of thirty different songs in about thirty minutes. Without pause. Yeah, it's as cool as you think it is. The drummer has got to be tired after thirty minutes of constant play. I got tired just watching him.

Here's a link to about 10 minutes of their studio session. But you've gotta see this live sometime. If you know all thirty songs you're my hero (Jenny).


Oh, I also got to drink in another church. Always a pleasure (for me, not them).

Saturday, August 6, 2011

Lollapalooza

The blog is back! Well, it was always here, but no new posts went up during the changes. I know you've been dying to know what I ate for lunch, who I ran into at Starbucks, and how many pretzels I can fit in my mouth. But none of that's important, because check out the new stuffs!

Also, here's a new post about Lollapalooza. (Oh right, you're here to read stuff, not just stare at pretty things. Silly me.)

I'm not a fan of Lolla. I say that but I've never even been before. It just feels like a cluster fuck of mania when I think about it. But this year I'm putting my feelings aside and giving it a shot. With a day pass.

Sunday, August 7th I'll be at Lolla starting around 3:00pm. It will be a madhouse. It will be insanely crowded. The toilets will be unusable beyond their norm. People will wreak of booze and sweat and possibly vomit depending on the crowd. But I'm all in this year. For one day only.

Below are the bands you can find me watching. Feel free to catch up with me if you'll be there. DM me if you want to guarantee some face time. If you have my cell # even better. Texting is better than email on the day of.

3:15 Dale Earnhardt Jr Jr (tentative) Google+ stage
4:15 Flogging Molly  Bud Light stage
5:15 Cage the Elephant  Playstation stage
6:15 open wandering/food/beer time
7:00 Explosions in the Sky Sony stage
8:00 Foo Fighters Music Unlimited stage

Wednesday, August 3, 2011

Under Construction! Oh Noes!

So here's the dealio. The blog is going under construction, and hopefully when it's all done it will be worth it. And if not, there will be much cursing and poo flinging. But not at you. You're awesome and would never deserve poo to be flung at you.

Soooo, you won't see posts for a day or two or three, which is sadness. But when I'm back we'll throw a parade and hand out candy and eat lots and lots of chocolate. Oh wait. That just sounds like Thursday. Well, whatever, we'll celebrate.

You may not notice a difference when I return, which is okay by me. The construction is on the admin side. But just in case I make major changes, try not to scream or cry. It's still the same blog. Promise. I'm just bedazzling it a bit. Because everything is better with jewels glued to it!

TV On The Radio - "Will Do"

If you know me well, then you know I love music more than most anything. It's always been a big part of my life, and it's always helped me through the times. Good times, sad times, shitty times, drunk times. And if you like music even a smidgen as much as I do, chances are I've asked you for suggestions of new music. Because I am forever expanding my music collection.

This post is thanks to Matthew who introduced me to TV on the Radio. Just bought Nine Types of Light on vinyl, and it's fantastic!




Comment with your music suggestions and you might get your own post too...

Also, if you like science, and sciencey things, check out Matthew's blog.
It will make you OMGasm about science.

Tuesday, August 2, 2011

Men at Work

I just have to say that I've met my maintenance guy. He's a total sweetheart. And when you talk to him his English is perfect. It should be seeing as he grew up a stone's throw from here, and so did his parents. And yet every time he's been by for repairs, he leaves the most fucked up notes on the kitchen counter. Apparently he does this because its funny. I hate to admit it, but I do look forward to the notes. They make me smile every time without fail.


Monday, August 1, 2011

Dear Bruise On My Foot

Dear bruise on my foot,
I know when I got you (two weeks ago at the PWT's show). I even know who gave you to me (22 year old tartlet who stepped on me trying to get Tom's attention, who btw is ten years her senior so yeah, probably not gonna happen, but maybe). What I don't know, or understand, is why you are still here after two weeks.

The last time I had a bruise on my foot (which incidentally was in roughly the same spot) was a year or two ago at a wedding. I got drunk (I know right) and was dancing like a fool at the reception. My girl Jewels was drunk (again, I know) and she stepped on me with her spike heels. That bruise was waaaaay worse and lasted only a week. (Also, totally worth it.)

So bruise on my foot, why do you stick around? I can't wear my favorite shoes until you go away, because they rub you in all the wrong ways. What are you lingering for? What's got you so hurt that you just can't heal? Also, why do you hurt so much after the black and blue and purple color has gone away?  I think maybe we need to take a break. It's not you, it's me.

Also, maybe I should start wearing combat boots when I get drunk and dance. Apparently I get stepped on a lot, and I'm not sure if it's me or them making that happen. Let's just assume it's me for now. (It's totally gotta be me.)

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